Knife

The darkness of this night is a reflection of what has been, The lives we lived, times we’d seen. This darkness runs a chill, up my spine, I feel abandoned, even by those, I thought were mine. The unearthly hours seem to be untamed, I thought today would be different, but it all feels the same. This city, the lane I live in, reeks of you, Nights spent under that lamppost, hoping my heart would get its due. The benches are empty, the swing motionless, All still like my thoughts, mindless There’s some feeling trying to overcome me, But there’s also this numbing pain, that’s helping me be. The glisten of the raindrops on the unpainted rods of the bus stand, Puddles form shapes, almost like on the wave of a magic wand. I walk back to the roof, that’s mine out of charity, The whitewash’s faded, like a fake symbol of purity. I see a silhouette, against the compound wall, Gaining in stature, growing tall, I feel the chill run up my spine, Didn’t know the knife you’d use, would ever be mine!!